


A First Time for Everything

by Irollforinitiative



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irollforinitiative/pseuds/Irollforinitiative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach. Sherlock comes back. They return to their normal routine only to find their ever present friendship has, for both of them, fostered feelings of a romantic kind. Rating for language and implied sex. Moved over from FFDN</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Back, Mr. Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> I had all these post Reichenbach feels and so I got a bug up my butt to write something wonderfully Johnlock and post Reichenbach since nothing I was reading was satisfying my needs. I planed on writing a wee little one shot. Then this beast was borne.

1 year after the fall

John pulled himself out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. It seemed like everything he did these days was only done so by sheer force of will. Fumbling in his pocket, John finally found the keys to his flat. Six months after Sherlock died he had finally started calling it his flat. He’d taken another job at a surgery. This time it was full time so, with what he suspected was some secret help from Mycroft, he was able to afford 221B on his own. Not that he’d have taken another flat mate. Not that Mrs. Hudson would have let him. At one point in time in a moment of frustration he had gathered up all of Sherlock’s old lab supplies (after cleaning them, of course) and was prepared to throw them out when Mrs. Hudson had stopped him. Even though it had been nine months since his death at that point in time she was still in tears. She had grabbed the box of supplies from him and marched them up to Sherlock’s now empty room. While she was his landlady and not his housekeeper, she had still kept cleaning up the flat and always kept Sherlock’s room well dusted and aired out. Neither of them said it but they both knew that it was just in case. Just in case a miracle happened. 

These memories flashed through John’s mind as he looked at his keys. He was using one of Sherlock’s random and seemingly useless bits of lab supplies as a key ring these days. It made him smile. After a year he was now looking for reasons to smile. Shoving the keys into the lock, John began the ascent up to his flat (it took him ten months to start calling it that). Sometimes when he was walking up the stairs he let himself pretend for just one moment that it was all a dream. That he would open the door to the sitting room and Sherlock would be draped over the couch all elbows and cheekbones demanding something from John even though John and been gone for hours. 

This was not one of those times. John just climbed. Leaning against the door handle he pushed the door open as though it weighed much more than it did. His hand tightened on the handle, unsure of what to do. On the couch was a figure. Their obscenely long legs were thrown here and there and their expensive, leather, dress shoes had been flung haphazardly off onto the ground below. John felt like he couldn’t breathe and his body coughed on instinct, trying to clear his airway of the invisible blockage. At the sound Sherlock lifted his head and looked at John. 

“Good, you’re home. I need my phone and it’s in the kitchen.” Sherlock let his head flop back down. John, sadly, did not have a biting retort. He didn’t have any response at all, save for his legs going to liquid as he fell to the floor in a faint. 

John’s eyes snapped open seconds after he hit the floor. It was enough time for Sherlock to reach him. Therefore, when John’s eyes came into focus he was greeted by the face of his closest friend sporting an expression similar to worry. John was still unnerved and scooted away so he could stand back up, all the while sputtering vague inclinations of words. 

“You—I—de—but—then—grave—and—how—Mori—Mol—Sher—” After a few moments John ran out of ideas and just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, his back pressed against the wall of the flat. Sherlock straightened himself up, the look of worry gone, and began to fill in the words John seemed to have so much trouble expressing at the moment. 

“Yes, I was dead. There is a grave. But I’m not in it. At least not ME, me. Moriarty was up there on that roof with me. I knew he was going to try and force me to kill myself. It was all about power with him and that was the ultimate expression of power. Therefore, I did my best to control the circumstances so that I had a chance of, you could say, dodging a bullet. He told me that if I didn’t kill myself that a group of assassins he had hired would kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. The three people I care for most in this world. My only friends. He didn’t realize I have a fourth friend, thought. Molly helped me fake my death. Only be doing this could I work covertly to take out all the assassins. I hated to have to conceal myself from you, John. But, it was necessary. Had I made my life know. You…you would have been killed.” With those words Sherlock’s face took on a truly and authentically pained expression. The thought of loosing John haunted him even now. 

His moment of fear and worry was interrupted by the broad fist of a man trained in combat coming into contact with his jaw. Sherlock hit the ground and took stock of his condition immediately. Jaw, bruised but not broken. Teeth, in tact. Pride, wounded but who was here to see but John. John, currently lifting him back to his feet via the lapels of his jacket. Once Sherlock was back to eye level with John the shorter man took a breath and spoke. Each word was soft and short, his anger evident in each syllable. 

“I thought you were dead. My life felt like it was over. I wanted it to be over. It felt like dying. And you have the audacity to act as though it was not a big deal?” John stared into Sherlock’s eyes and Sherlock stared back, saying nothing. Sherlock was willing John to understand via eye contact. On very rare occasions John seemed to take the non verbal hints Sherlock gave him. This was one such time. Suddenly John’s face softened as he remembered the way Sherlock had nervously looked down when speaking of the potential for John to be assassinated. He took in the suit, very nearly tattered with overuse. The hair, overgrown and dull. The body, skinnier than usual if that was even possible. And his face. His face looked dry. As though the past year had drained the life out of it.


	2. There is a First Time

Suddenly John’s arms were around Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling him down and into a tight hug. He grabbed hold of a handful of Sherlock’s hair and gripped his shoulder so hard with the other hand that he would probably leave a bruise. Sherlock nearly collapsed into the embrace. He had worried so much over John’s reaction to his return. Of all the scenarios he had played out this was one of the better potential reactions. He tightened his arms around John’s ribs and pressed his face into the soft, cable knit, jumper that John was wearing. Sherlock suddenly became aware of something running down his neck. It was warm and liquid. John was crying. The though of that made Sherlock feel more like crying than he had since he was a boy. Instead of doing so he just tried to hug his blogger tighter. 

After a few minutes John had seemed to calm down. He lifted his face from Sherlock’s shoulder and actually spoke rationally for the first time that afternoon. 

“I was so sad, Sherlock. So scared. How could you not even give me a hint?” John still kept his grip on Sherlock and Sherlock kept his just as tight. 

“Well I figured I’d never been dead before and there’s a first time for everything.” Sherlock was back to his usual self. 

“Don’t be facetious, Sherlock.” John was saying his name a lot. It felt nice to say it again without feeling sad. Sherlock just chuckled and loosened his grip on his friend. John sighed and released him as well but he kept a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. He needed some contact. Something. Sherlock grinned his cheeky grin and moved towards John. John assumed he would push past him but instead something strange happened. Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to John’s. For almost full second John’s eyes closed and he leaned forward, kissing back. Then he realized what was happening and quickly stepped back, mouth open, eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“What was that?” John wasn’t angry. He wasn’t offended. He was just confused and Sherlock could see that. 

“It was a kiss, John. I assumed you know what one was conside—”John cut him off.

“No, I know it was a kiss. But, why?”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it? It’s how one shows affection.” 

“Well…yes. But it’s usually between two people who love each other.” John ran his hand over his face. It still astonished him sometimes how naïve Sherlock could be. 

“Exactly. You’re my best friend. It is logical and expected that I love you. I assumed you felt the same.”

“Well yes, but kissing is for romantic love.”

“I see no difference. We spent two years together and then were parted for one. Both of us spent said year worrying for the safety of the other. Now that we are reunited it is a moment of intense emotion. The embrace, while comforting, was not fully satisfying. So I kissed you.” John chuckled at him. 

“As always your logic is impeccable and yet entirely wrong.” 

“If it will make you feel better you are now the first and only person I’ve ever kissed.”

“Wait, really?”  
“Yes. I never before had enough of an emotional attachment to anyone to desire it. I’m hungry” John nodded at Sherlock and went into the kitchen, confused and still practically quivering with emotion. Sherlock was back. Somehow it didn’t feel like a big deal. It only served to prove that he had never really accepted the consulting detective’s death. But then Sherlock had kissed him. Sherlock’s logic floated through John’s head. Was it really different? He had truly not minded. That was more than he could have said in the past. At Uni a drunk bloke (who was his best friend at the time) had kissed him and John responded by punching his friend and storming out. But it was different with Sherlock. Her had…enjoyed it? Then again it was Sherlock. The man attracted every person he met. He was handsome and cocky and absolutely brilliant. Moreover Sherlock was John’s absolute best friend ever. John put Sherlock before his girlfriends. In fact, John had stopped dating because he always compared his girlfriends to Sherlock and they had come up lacking. But was he romantically interested in Sherlock? Oh that was too much to consider in one day. John shook his head and started rummaging through the fridge to find food for dinner. With a sigh John realized his clean refrigerator would soon again be filled with body parts and experiments. 

In the sitting room Sherlock had flung himself back on the couch. He was proud of his logic. It was quick thinking on his part. In truth he had kissed John merely because he had wanted to. After that first night when John had been flirting with Sherlock (whether or not John realized it at the time), Sherlock had been trying to make a study of his own sexuality. People always seemed obsessed with that. They always asked him if he was gay or straight. He always had responded that he was Sherlock. Sherlock had long suspected that the strange and unidentified weight at the back of his mind when it came to John might be attraction. He had always seemed too hurt when John yelled at people that they weren’t dating. More than once he’d had the strange reaction of being offended that John didn’t think Sherlock was good enough to date. It was irrational and illogical but it was happening. Moreover that random impulse of a kiss had stirred that same weight in Sherlock’s mind. Except now it was in the front of his mind and it was pressing him to kiss John again. It seemed to Sherlock that his sexuality was John. But, that simply wouldn’t do. Ergo he would have to just carry on as usual. In truth, the closeness of their friendship fulfilled his need for companionship and Sherlock suspected that his body was only telling him he was attracted to John because of how close and true their friendship had become.


	3. She Learned it From John

John popped his head into the sitting room to see Sherlock once again draped across the furniture, deep in thought. He had his fingers touching in front of his nose and an expression on his face as though he was trying to read something very small. It felt so good to see him doing that again. 

“Is warmed pasta okay?” John felt bad breaking the silence but he was hungry too. 

“Mmm. Yes. As long as it’s yours. Mrs. Hudson always overcooks it.” Sherlock’s words were laden with preoccupation. 

“Course it’s mine. I never let that woman touch pasta. Oh shit!” That had gotten Sherlock’s attention. The usually sweary blogger had been using clean language up ‘till now. 

“What?”

“Mrs. Hudson. We’ve got to tell her. By God Sherlock if you tell her like you told me it’ll give her a heart attack. We can eat in a second. Let me go sit her down and prep her then you can come in.” John started walking towards the door to the stairs with Sherlock at his heels not yet understanding the plan. 

“Wait what?”

“Mrs. Hudson. She deserves to know. I’ll sit her down and tell her you’re alive then you can come in and prove it. That way we don’t kill her with shock.” Sherlock nodded and followed. While he rarely let John make plans, it seemed for the best in this moment. John didn’t knock but just walked into Mrs. Hudson’s flat once they reached it. It seemed the two had become closer in his absence. John found Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. She smiled and greeted him warmly. 

“Johnny, good to see you. Why you look happier than you have in ages!” She beamed warmly at him. It made her happy to see him happy. 

“Yeah, there’s reason for that. Take a seat and I’ll tell you.”

“Why?”

“Just…trust me. You’ll want to sit.” Mrs. Hudson eyed him warily and sat down. “Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock isn’t dead.” She flapped her hand at him. 

“Oh I know you want to believe that but really, John, you have no proof.”

“He was in the flat when I got home today.”

“Bullshit.” The swear word coming from the old landlady shocked them both and Sherlock stepped into the room, shocked. 

“Mrs. Hudson, you swear? Please tell me it’s not a bad habit you picked up from John this last year.” She stood up and stared at him. For almost a full minute she was silent. 

“Fuck you.” John and Sherlock both stared in shock. 

“What?” John was the only one that managed words. 

“I said fuck you, Sherlock. I know you probably had good reason. You look like hell so it wasn’t just some twisted experiment. But, that doesn’t change what happened to us. Now I forgive you. That goes without saying. But you broke my heart. It felt like loosing my own child. And poor John wasn’t the same. Not ever.” John looked down. It was true. “So, Sherlock, I have to say fuck you. And it looks like John said the same, judging by that bruise forming on your jaw.” She then stood and plucked an icepack out of the freezer which she proceeded to place on Sherlock’s jaw. Neither of them really knew what to say or do. Mrs. Hudson continued to bustle about the kitchen and make tea while John and Sherlock sat in stunned silence. After a few minutes she started asking about how Sherlock had faked his death. He told both Mrs. Hudson and John of his entire year starting from when he and Molly hatched the plan, to when he showed up in the apartment. During this time Mrs. Hudson, with John’s help, had made tea and dinner and the three of them had eaten their fill of meat pie while sitting around Mrs. Hudson’s small kitchen table. 

“Well now boys it’s getting late and it seems we’ve all had quite the day. I’m going to sleep and I recommend you do the same.” John and Sherlock each took their turn hugging Mrs. Hudson and then headed back up to their flat. John thought about how good it felt to realize it was their flat again. Neither spoke as they navigated getting ready for bed in the only bathroom in the flat. John had never even moved Sherlock’s toothbrush so it was easy to do. Easy to fall back into their routine. After he finished brushing his teeth John patted Sherlock on the shoulder and left the bathroom. He closed the door behind him because he knew Sherlock always showered before bed. It made him smile to hear the shower turn on as soon as the door closed. They were back to normal. He was back to normal.


	4. Sleep Cuddler

Once in bed John began to turn over the events of the day in his head. For some reason it didn’t seem a big deal that Sherlock had kissed him. Though, to be honest, it wasn’t one sided. They had kissed and it was truly, honestly, not a big deal. He remembered how Sherlock had looked right before they had kissed. He looked so content. His eyes so clear. His horn so majestic. It was white and matched his mane and tail. John watched him prance across the meadow. Then again, that unicorn was female, it seemed. The butterfly, however, was not. John regarded the butterfly. It looked to be just about big enough to ride. He decided he needed to do that. Riding a butterfly is like nothing he’d ever experience before. He could see the whole meadow. But there was a strange noise. It was his name being said by a familiar voice. Suddenly the meadow faded and was replaced by his dark bedroom. 

Sherlock was standing in John’s doorway whispering his name. For a hair’s breadth of time John had been frightened and reached for the gun under his pillow (it had stayed there since Moriarty had first made himself known to the 221B boys). John had quickly remembered the previous day and pulled his hand back out from under his pillow, rubbing his eyes instead. 

“What is it Sherlock?” John only half sat up. Too tired to make much effort. Sherlock just stepped into his room and continued to look at the floor. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You can’t ever sleep.”

“But I’m tired this time.”

“Then have a drink or take one of my old sleeping pills.”

“I don’t want to put anything in my system.” John sighed at his friend. 

“All right, what do you need me to do?” Sherlock stepped further into the room and looked at John. He opened his mouth but no words seemed to find their way out. “What’s up with you, Sherlock. You’re being rather vulnerable all of a sudden?” That seemed to pull him back to attention and back to being himself. 

“Oh John,” he was talking down to John. That was better. Much more like Sherlock, “I’m always vulnerable with you. It’s usually just in small doses. However, I have a year’s worth of vulnerability saved up and so it’s just all coming out at once.” John nodded and rolled his eyes, thankful for the darkness. 

“Ah, that makes sense.” Sherlock glared at him and ignored the sarcasm, continuing on in his condescending manner. 

“The fact of the matter is I’ve spent a year convinced you would die at any time and I’ve, therefore, developed nightmares. They usually only plague me once a night. However, tonight they won’t stop long enough for me to sleep. Telling myself you were safe and asleep upstairs did not help. My subconscious has falsely decided I’ve missed an assassin and you will be killed in your sleep tonight. Therefore, I propose I sleep up here. To ease my nightmares and also just in case my subconscious is correct.” He then walked to the right side of the bed that always seemed to remain empty and began to discard his dressing gown. He was wearing his favorite silk pajamas. John considered responding but realized Sherlock was scared and needed comforting. John had to admit he had taken to having nightmares again too. They were always the same thing. Sherlock falling. It would be nice to have him right there should the nightmares strike again. And there’s always a first time for everything. Sherlock in the same bed even though they were at home wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

“I see you’re back in your favorite jim jams. That must be nice after a year away.” Sherlock smiled at John’s total lack of reaction to the proposition of sharing a bed. They had done it before on various investigations when they needed to stay at hotels and, truly, he needed it. He needed the comfort. It seemed John did too. 

“Yes. I missed them. I see you’re still wearing the exact same flannel pants and t-shirt as ever.”

“I never change Sherlock. You know that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sherlock lay down facing John and smiled. “Goodnight, John.” John smiled back as his eyes drifted closed.   
“Mmmh. Goodnight, Sherlock.” John was back asleep in seconds. Truly it had been an exhausting day. Doing his best not to rouse his sleeping bedmate Sherlock turned over and closed his eyes, feeling the fatigue of the day. Before he could fully fall asleep John mumbled something and Sherlock found himself in the snare of an arm that was much more well muscled than it used to be. John easily drug Sherlock from one side of the bed to the other so that Sherlock’s back was now pressed into John’s chest. Sherlock craned his neck to look at the doctor and found him fast asleep. Unsure of what to do as he was seemingly pinned, Sherlock just readjusted and got his head comfortable on the pillow he now shared with John. In a matter of moments Sherlock was asleep too. He didn’t have a single nightmare. 

John’s dragonfly ride (the butterfly had business he had to attend to) ended gently as John gave him a goodbye hug. As the dream faded and reality came into perspective, John realized he was still holding something and he opened his eyes. He was greeted by a mass of dark, curly, hair. While still overgrown, Sherlock’s hair was back to being shiny and clean looking. Showering at home had done him good. It seemed to slowly dawn on John that the thing he was clutching to his chest was, indeed, Sherlock himself. Embarrassed, John carefully lifted his arm so as not to disturb the sleeping man. It had no effect. Sherlock still stirred and turned over to face John. They were precariously close. 

“Good morning, John.” Sherlock’s eyes were still half closed and sleep. 

“Morning. You sleep well?” John didn’t want to make Sherlock feel uncomfortable of like he was imposing so John stayed in the bed, his head propped up on one arm. 

“Mmhmm. You?” Sherlock yawned widely. John smiled. He was happy to see his friend well rested after what must have been a year of very little sleep. 

“Quite. You’ve been exercising to help deal with your stress. I can tell. You were only this physically fit when we first met and you were fresh out of the army.” John looked confused then blushed. 

“Sorry. I tend to…uh…sleep cuddle. Literally anyone or anything in the bed is fair game to sleep cuddles. And yes. I uh…dealt with my stress by going to the gym.” Sherlock nodded. 

“It didn’t bother me. I slept right through the night. I think that as much as I avoid human contact, I needed it.” Sherlock realized the weight of what he had just said and rolled over and popped out of bed. Wrapping his dressing gown around himself he swept out of the room and announced, “I’m hungry.”


	5. The Game is Afoot

John ran his hand through his hair (almost time for a trim) and set off down the stairs to make breakfast for his companion. As he set the kettle on the stove her heard something hit the table and Sherlock announced, “there it’s done.” 

“What’s done?” John poked his head out of the kitchen. 

“I’ve informed Lestrade I’m alive.” Sherlock had pulled John’s laptop off the desk and was signing in using John’s password that he had hacked almost three years ago. John stared at Sherlock warily as he picked up the phone and looked at the sent texts. I’m still alive. Call if anything interesting happens. At 221B Baker as usual. –SH

“You texted Lestrade to let him know you were alive?” Sherlock looked up at him over the computer as if to say so? “One of the three people you care most about and you texted him?”

“Well last time I saw him he was trying to arrest me.”

“Yes I remember I was there. But he cleared you. He investigated and got myself and Molly in to speak to a judge and your name was cleared.”

“He kept on Donovan and Anderson.”

“Well they, technically, didn’t do anything wrong. Sure I’d like to deck both of them but I already had to do 40 hours community service for my fist-happy attitude.” Sherlock smiled at the memory of John being arrested along side himself. As he remembered the scene his phone beeped and he snatched it out of John’s hand and read outloud. 

“Text from Lestrade: ‘Sherlock, good to hear. I always knew. I think we all did. I’ll come by this afternoon to visit. Got a couple cold cases for you too. Look forward to your help. I’ve needed it recently. –Lestrade’ Now does that sound like he actually minded?”

“The whole world’s gone mad.” John threw his hands in the air melodramatically and went back to fixing toast and eggs. When he walked back into the sitting room a bit later, plates of food in hand, he smiled. Sherlock had his laptop on the coffee table and was glaring at it while clicking about on the computer. 

“No one commented on your post about me being dead. Do you think they believed Morarty?” Sherlock didn’t look up. John just laughed. 

“God, for a second there it was like you never left. And no, I deleted all the comments. Just didn’t feel right to have ‘em there.” Sherlock looked up and took his food from John. 

“I know. Hearing you making breakfast. It’s normalcy. I’ve never before realized how much it…” Sherlock trailed off, thinking of the rest of the sentence. John finished it for him. 

“Pleases your Aspergers?” Sherlock glared and threw some egg at John. They ate in silence. John realized he was going to be late for work if he didn’t get going soon. 

“You should quit.” Sherlock had gone back to the computer. 

“What?”

“I believe I’m correct in assuming Mycroft paid my half of the rent and that Mrs. Hudson never asked more from you than what you used to pay. If I were to guess I would bet her excuse was that she had finally paid off the note on her new washer and dryer so should could afford to have less rent from you. Therefore, you should have quite the savings at this moment in time. Now that I’m back to pay my half and we will be getting real work again you don’t need that job.” John stared at Sherlock. 

“How’d you know that was her excuse? Bloody brilliant.” Sherlock smiled widely. 

“I know. And I’ve missed hearing you say it.”

“I should quit, shouldn’t I?” John was suddenly smiling widely. He hated the surgery he was at. No one respected him. They always called him “army man” and made jokes about how this wasn’t field surgery and how it required a gentle touch. This seemed ironic to John as he was the softest spoken doctor there. So, John pulled out his phone and called up the surgery. “Hello, Marge? It’s John. Could you pass along a message to Tony? Yeah, tell him I said these exact words: ‘Fuck you and your job. I’m a better surgeon than you’ll ever be and I was in the army. This means I could find you and kill you if I wanted. However, I won’t as I’m off to save the world. One murderer in handcuffs at a time.’ Yes…yes…thank you…I’ll miss you too.” With that he flung his phone onto the table next to Sherlock’s and pulled his computer out of Sherlock’s grip. 

“Get your own damn computer. Someone has to find us work and I still get hundreds of hits on the blog a day. Time to let them know we’re back open for business.” Sherlock laughed and stood up. 

“The game is afoot!” Suddenly John’s face fell and Sherlock stopped heading towards his room as he saw this.


	6. Take Away

“The game is afoot!” Suddenly John’s face fell and Sherlock stopped heading towards his room as he saw this. 

“Wait, what about Moriarty. If you’re not dead I’m sure he isn’t. He’ll come back for you. For all of us.”

“I can almost promise you he isn’t dead. However, I kept him entertained for quite some time. Even if he does come back it won’t be for a while. Anyways, he won last time. That will keep him sated for long enough, hopefully.” John nodded and clicked the new entry button on his blog. 

Later that night they heard the bell ringing at the door to the flat. 

“Didn’t I shoot that out?” Sherlock looked immensely confused. 

“Yes, you did. I got it fixed a few months back. It’s helpful to have a bell. I can’t hear knocking from my room.” Sherlock grumbled and went back to his previous task of sorting and inventorying his lab equipment (he had found the box in his room and promptly reprimanded John for ruining his organization). John went to answer the door since Mrs. Hudson was out for dinner. When he opened it he was greeted by the smiling face of Detective Inspector Lestrade. 

“John! It’s been too long. How’ve you been?” Lestrade clapped John on the shoulder as the shorter man opened the door and led them both upstairs. 

“I’ve been shit. What did you think, I’d have been happy? That’s all passed now. Seems like a bad dream I finally woke up from.” 

“I never doubted he’d find a way.” Lestrade proudly proclaimed as they entered the sitting room of the flat. John had taken the time to shower, shave, and dress. Sherlock was still in his dressing gown but he had, at least, allowed John to trim his hair for him. 

“That’s a lie, Greg, and you know it. You bawled like a little girl at his funeral.” Lestrade glared at John and proceeded to drop a large stack of files in front of Sherlock. 

“These are all the cases that went cold while you were ‘dead’. Solve them and I have authorization to pay you.” Sherlock looked up, surprised. 

“Pay me?”

“Yeah, well after I cleared your name and your…role…in many cases before you became famous came into the light. Well at first everyone was pissed. Then I think they all realized you had died trying to help us so they gave you the official title of ‘consulting detective’ along with all the privileges of a standard detective. Your name was officially added to the fallen comrades list. Course you’re alive now. And we can’t handle the bad publicity of stripping you of your title. So…welcome to the force.” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Bad publicity?” Lestrade looked at the floor. 

“Yeah…well…after your death we didn’t successfully catch a single high profile criminal. I think at this point in time even the Commissioner is glad you’re back to help us out.” Sherlock nodded vacantly and started going through the files. 

“John will, of course, be the one to deal with any monitary…things.” 

“Yes, yes I will. Don’t let him turn it down either. Getting paid for doing work. Wow. There’s a first time for everything I guess. We’re glad to have it.” John smiled at Lestrade. 

“Figured you would be. Heard you quit your job today.” John winced. 

“Mycroft?” Lestrade looked ashamed. 

“Mmmm. Yeah, he’s been keeping an eye on you and has been keeping me informed. He worries.”

“We’ll we’re all right here. Dream team is back together. It’s all okay.” John raised his voice and looked around for the cameras he knew Mycroft had in the flat. “You hear that Mycroft? ALL OKAY!” Sherlock suppressed a laugh with his hand as he kept reading. Lestrade looked at him and nodded. 

“Well, you’re off. I’ll see you around.” John thanked Greg for coming by and saw him to the door. When he returned to the sitting room Sherlock was entirely engaged in the first case file. John smiled at him and went to go get a Chinese take out menu. Just in case he figured he’d order something for Sherlock, but John knew he would end up eating it for breakfast. Sherlock never ate when dealing with cases, cold or hot. John sat down and read the news on his computer while he waited for the food to come. 

After an acceptable 20 minutes had passed the doorbell rang again. Sherlock seemed to have not noticed John ordering food, so he was incensed. 

“John! Deal with that racket or I will shoot it!” His eyes never left the page. 

“Looks like the honeymoon’s over.” John shook his head as he answered the door and got the food. Sherlock was still engrossed in the files when John came back up with the take away, so he just went straight into the kitchen and began to get his food ready. As John packed up Sherlock’s food and prepared to find a space for it in the fridge, he heard Sherlock behind him. 

“When did you order food?” John jumped. He expected Sherlock to not come out of his case induced stupor for days. 

“Jesus, Sherlock you scared me. I ordered it almost a half hour ago.”

“Mmmh. What did you get me?”

“Orange chicken. Wait…you want food?”

“Yes, John, that is what one usually does when a take away is ordered. They eat it.” Sherlock was egregiously condescending as he gathered his food. John was still in shock. 

“You’re working on a case. You never eat while on a case.” John was truly bewildered and Sherlock could tell. Therefore, he set down the food, sat on the couch and looked calmly at John. 

“I know that. However, for the last year I was forced to subsist on rations that even I would call meager. Because of this I find myself constantly hungry. None of my clothes fit. I feel tired all the time. These are cold cases. I can sacrifice some focus in order to regain my previous physicality.” John just nodded. As usual, Sherlock’s logic was infallible. So, they ate. After a silent meal John cleaned up while Sherlock continued work on the cases. When it was half ten John decided he best get some sleep. It wouldn’t be long before they would be back to sleepless nights chasing serial killers. Best rest while he could.


	7. Pillow Fights

When he stood for bed Sherlock put down the files and stood as well. John stopped moving and stared. 

“What are you doing?” he asked the dark haired man. 

“Going to bed. It’s late.”

“But you never…you know what I need to stop saying that. You really put yourself through hell last year didn’t you?” Sherlock’s eyes became vacant at John’s words and he nodded gently. John’s heart went out to him. “All right I understand. I’ll stop making it a big deal.” 

Sherlock nodded curtly and began to climb the stairs. John began to say something but didn’t want to make his friend feel ashamed. He was still scared. He still needed John’s presence. In truth, John still needed his. John had no idea how long it would be before he no longer would prefer the other man sleeping next to him. They climbed the stairs to change clothes and then headed back down for their nighttime toilette routine. As per usual John left before Sherlock and Sherlock showered. To no one’s surprise Sherlock entered John’s room shortly after. 

“Thank you for the haircut today. I’m starting to see myself again when I look in the mirror.” John smiled at Sherlock as he turned down the sheets. “Though the same can’t be said for you. You need to stop going to the gym and eat more. You don’t look like my John.” At that John laughed. 

“Well if today is any pattern for the future then it won’t take long for me to be back to out of shape and slightly pudgy. Will that make you happy?” Sherlock chuckled at his friend. 

“Yes. You’re cuter chubby.” A pillow came whipping through the space between them to strike the side of Sherlock’s face. He glared at his friend. 

“John, that was unwise. I am taller and have a stronger wit than you. You will not succeed.” John laughed loudly once then threw another pillow at Sherlock. By the time the first year they spent living together had passed the two had learned how to joke and play. For some reason John had always started pillow fights when he was in good moods. Sherlock acted offended but always enjoyed the childish moments. When Sherlock was in a good mood he would nag at John until he got ruffled. Then they would giggle themselves silly. Only when alone would the two act like children. But when they were alone, the childish moments seemed common. 

This was made evident by the pillow that Sherlock now wielded and was bludgeoning John with. The army doctor responded by grabbing Sherlock about the waist and tackling him onto the bed. Once there they grappled for superiority. In the end John ended up sitting on John’s chest holding a pillow above his head in victory. He leaned down onto his hands and looked at the detective who had finally relented. 

“I’ve won, Sherlock, admit it.”

“I shan’t. I’m haggard and you’ve been exercising too much. Doesn’t count.”

“Oh yes it does. It counts.” John was laughing and Sherlock’s cool exterior was beginning to crack and his desire to laugh was showing through. John’s face fell as a thought passed through his mind. Without fully thinking it through John leaned down and kissed Sherlock. Unlike the last kiss this one lasted longer than a second. It remained chaste and innocent, but there was a passion behind it that scared and intrigued John. After a few moments he pulled back and moved off of Sherlock. Shuffling under the covers he said something, feeling awkward. 

“Good lord, I’m tired.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock got under the covers as well. 

“Night, Sherlock”

“Goodnight, John.”

“I’ll try not to sleep cuddle you so aggressively tonight.” John said as he rolled so his back was to Sherlock. As he closed his eyes he heard the other man barely whisper. 

“Don’t.”

Sherlock sighed and seemed to fall asleep. John’s eyes, however, we wide open. Sherlock wanted him to cuddle him? Why? Then again, John wanted to kiss Sherlock today and he had. It was different than the last kiss. This one wasn’t a fluke. It was purposeful. John’s stomach knotted as he repeated something to himself that he hadn’t repeated in over a year. I’m straight. I’m straight. I’m in love with Sherlock Holmes, but I’m straight. John shook his head. If Sherlock only knew the things John was thinking he would run away and never speak to John again. With a sigh John closed his eyes and let sleep take him. 

Sherlock woke to find himself face to face with John, the doctor’s arm clamped tightly over his waist. Sherlock was pinned. He stretched his neck to see the clock. 9 am. Acceptably late enough. Therefore, Sherlock began to think about how to wake the sleeping man. Only one option seemed viable after the night before. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the sleeping man’s. John’s mouth stirred and pressed back. His hand released Sherlock’s waist and moved to his face. With a deep breath John seemed to fully wake up and pulled back to stare wide eyed at Sherlock. 

“Good morning.” Sherlock smiled.


	8. Better Than Normal

“Good morning.” Sherlock smiled. 

“Morning. I’ll just go get breakfast started.” With that John nearly leapt out of bed and fled to the kitchen. Sherlock immediately felt guilty and followed John. He needed to apologize. When he reached the kitchen John was gripping the counter and leaning over, breathing deeply. Guilt washed over Sherlock. He had been back for less than two days and already he was making John feel bad. Sherlock looked at his overlarge feet. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. John stiffened and turned around. His military time and taken over and John was standing stiffly and properly. 

“What was that?” Even John’s tone was clipped and militaristic. More guilt washed over Sherlock. 

“I said I’m sorry.”

“For what?” John asked the question but his face betrayed that he knew the reason. 

“Kissing you…again. I acted upon impulse and I’m sorry if I offended.” John’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed. 

“Sherlock, you didn’t offend me. If anything I should have offended you. You understand kissing as something different than I do and you were just being my friend. Last night and this morning I kissed you in a way that was not like that. For that I’m sorry.” Sherlock looked confused. 

“You kiss was no different than mine.”

“Yes it was.”

“John, I’m an adult and fully capable of judging my interactions with others. It was the same.” Sherlock’s voice rose as he began to become agitated. 

“You’re too innocent to know the difference.”

“My innocence has nothing to do with fact! You have no reason to apologize so please cease.”

“Yes it does I took advantage!” John was becoming agitated too. 

“Oh and how? By doing the same thing I did not two days ago?” Sherlock scoffed. 

“By doing it with different intentions!”

“Oh, please John, do tell how you’re so different than I am!” Sherlock’s sarcasm was thick now. His voice was also loud enough the that neighbors were bound to hear it. 

“Because I love you!” Sherlock stared and John turned red. 

“What?” Sherlock whispered. 

“Because…I love you. Not like you love me or Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. Romantically.” John looked pained. Sherlock’s face was unreadable. 

“For how long.” It was less of a question and more of a demand for information. John hung his head and answered. 

“I guess now it would be almost two years. Some time during our second year of living here I realized that I may be straight but somehow I had become close enough friends with you that…it didn’t matter anymore. My feelings had somehow gone from those of a close friend to…something else. I hid them away because you’re you. I knew if I said anything you would flee the country. When I thought you were dead it just…made it all worse. I guess I’m out of practice of dealing with everything. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

John turned his back and began to make tea again. His shoulders drooped and hands moved clumsily. Sherlock could tell he was struggling with many feelings. This was confusing for Sherlock because, to him, the answer seemed clear. It was, therefore, necessary to help John see that the answer was clear. He stepped forward and put his hand on John’s shoulder. The blonde man twitched and turned to face Sherlock. He looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes. Sherlock knit his brows together. 

“I have discovered, through my research, that many people find kissing with the added interaction of tongues to be more…pleasing…than the closed mouth version. Do I have permission to kiss you in this fashion?” 

“Sherlock you don’t have to—” Sherlock silenced John with a finger across his mouth. 

“You know I dislike repeating myself. I still await your answer.” John didn’t speak but just nodded. Sherlock leaned down gently. As he did so John’s eyes filled with an indescribably hope, laced with fear and apprehension. They closed as Sherlock’s face got closer. A few moments into the kiss Sherlock allowed his mouth to relax. Hoping John would take the hint and take over as Sherlock truly had no idea what to do next. 

John seemed to take the hint as his hand moved to grasp Sherlock’s neck and his tongue gently tapped against Sherlock’s lower lip. Moving his hand to John’s face Sherlock allowed himself to be led, mirroring John’s movements. Sherlock soon found himself fascinated by how smooth and slippery John’s tongue felt as his moved against his own. He also never realized how sensitive the hairs at the nape of his neck were. However, when John gently ran his fingers through them Sherlock found himself fighting off a shiver. Sherlock hoped desperately that he was making John feel similar to the way John was making him feel. Sherlock wasn’t able to feel that one of John’s knees was trembling. He couldn’t tell that John found himself suddenly wanting to cry. For both it was a new, yet perfect, moment. John ended the kiss before it continued on long enough for one of them to get bored. Far from being bored, Sherlock only wanted more and continued to stand close with his eyes half closed and mouth gently open. John spoke first. 

“If I may ask the same question you asked me; for how long?” Sherlock’s eyes fully opened and he took half a step back, not wanting John to feel crowded. 

“I supposed I would sound nothing like myself if I said forever?” John let out a laugh that was more sigh than laugh. Sherlock smiled and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Once you flirted with me at dinner that night—” 

“I never flirted!” John cut Sherlock off. Sherlock looked up at John with disbelief then continued. 

“John when the world’s only consulting detective thinks you’re flirting, even if you don’t think you are, you are. But as I was saying after that I felt it necessary to ponder sexuality in reference to myself. You were just one in a string of many people to question which gender I liked. I never gave it thought. I had sexual urges but they were always vague, impersonal, and easily handled. I was, after all, a teenager once.” Both Sherlock and John smiled awkwardly at one another. Both remembering their teen years. “I explored pornography and discovered that none of it interested me. Strangely enough the only thing that interested me was you. It was six months into our partnership and I found myself becoming closer and closer friends with you. Much as you said, the friendship seemed to blend easily into a more sexual emotion. However, as you said, you are straight. Ergo, I dismissed the idea. I did indulge in kissing you when I returned. Although, that truly did come as an outpouring of my friendship and a true interest in knowing what it would feel like.” 

Sherlock finished his speech and he and John both just stared at one another for a moment. John, once more, broke the silence. 

“Are we dating now?” His sarcasm, roughness, and flippant attitude had returned as evidenced by the humor in his voice as he said this. Sherlock smiled widely. 

“We are as we have ever been…something.” John laughed out loud. 

“Damn if that’s not true.”

“Indeed. Flatmates, friends, partners, confidants. And yet over all something else. Two halves to a whole.”

“So we’re Sherlock and John? I guess I can handle that.” Sherlock smiled for a moment then became serious again. John schooled his face down to serious as well, unsure of what Sherlock was going to say. 

“John, may we forego breakfast in favor of penetrative sex?” John choked on nothing and stuttered. 

“Wha…what?!”

“Sexual intercourse. Now that we have both admitted to romantic feelings for one another that is the logical course of action. Due to your personality in our interactions as well as your greater sexual experience, even if it is only in heterosexual sex, I suggest that you ‘top’ and I ‘bottom’.” John was still staring with wide eyes. 

“I’m sorry…what?” Sherlock stared at John, suddenly worried he was not okay. He held John’s face and looked directly into his eyes. Both pupils were the same size. Assuming then that it was a lack of understanding, Sherlock continued on. 

“I’m speaking about anal sex, John. According to the internet it is quit pleasant for both parties and, as they say, there’s a first time for everything. You know how I like to prepare for all happenstance so I have condoms and lubricant. However, as I have never had sex and you have not had sex in an extended period of time we can well assume that we are both without sexually transmitted infections. Unless…did you engage in coitus during my absence?”

“No. But…wait. Sherlock are you asking me to bum you?” Sherlock thought about the phrases for a moment to be sure that he was interpreting the slang correctly, then nodded. John stared at him for a second then stepped forward and initiated another kiss. 

After a quick trip to Sherlock’s room to retrieve the lube, John and Sherlock found themselves giving support to everyone’s theories about them being lovers. The evidence was manifested in a series of loud and pleasure driven noises coming from both men that could surely be heard on the street. Some time later they both lay on John’s disheveled bed, breathing heavily. 

“Fuck me!” John pressed his hand to his forehead and tried to wipe some of the sweat out of his eyes as he spoke. Sherlock turned to look at him as he spoke. 

“If that’s what you want…” Sherlock began to roll towards John. John laughed and pressed his hand into Sherlock’s chest to keep him away. 

“No…it was just a phrase. I don’t think I have it in me right now.”

“Actually, John, I’m the one who had it in them.” John laughed even harder. Sherlock chucked as well at his innuendo. 

“What I meant was fuck me that was good. Did you enjoy yourself?” Sherlock turned onto his side and looked at John. John did the same. 

“Yes, I think intercourse is only unpleasant the first time for women. Is it always that good?” John solemnly shook his head.

“No. And it wasn’t just the new…position. I’ve don’t that with women. It was you. I’ve never really been in love before. I guess my mates were right when they said it’s better with feelings.” John reached out and placed his hand on Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes and scooted closer to John. 

“Good. I would hate to find that I’m not the best at something. Sleep now.” John nodded knowing Sherlock could feel it and curled his arms around the taller man. Within moments they were both asleep. John awoke a very short time later to find the object of his sleep cuddling was not Sherlock, but was instead the other pillow on the bed. Before any worry or panic could rise up in John, he found a note clutched in his hand. 

My John,   
I awoke 15 minutes after our coitus and realized I had yet to finish one of the cases that Lestrade left me. I found the only way I was able to relieve myself of your grip was to give you a pillow to clutch instead of myself. I am currently writing this note to assure you that I have not fled the country nor do I have any intention of doing so. Instead I intend to go downstairs, finish making the tea you started earlier this morning, consume my leftover take away from last night. And attempt to not think about the way it felt to have part of you inside of me while I solve these cases. However, I do believe that whenever I get one solved I will be in need of a reward. Once you wake come downstairs. The first case involves murders where the murderer used medical instruments to dismember his victims and I believe your input would be helpful. 

\--Your Sherlock

John shook his head and tucked the note into his sock drawer. It involved scientific descriptions of sex followed by talk about gruesome murders, but it was the most romantic thing Sherlock had ever done or would probably ever do. Therefore, John was keeping it. As he got to the second half of the stairs he called out. 

“Let me get a cuppa then why don’t you show me some gory crime scene photographs while I try and not think about fucking you in the arse. Sound good?” Sherlock never looked up as John spoke and walked into the kitchen. Nor did John look at Sherlock. They knew where the other was. It was their routine. It was their life. The only thing that had changed was the removal of their own self induced sexual repression. It was like Sherlock hadn’t been gone for a year. Life was normal. Except now it involved more “fucking in the arse”. Sherlock smiled at the case file he was angrily staring at. 

“Sounds superb.”


End file.
